


4am again (and i'm doing nothing)

by minty (mintyyfresh)



Series: minty's sbi fics [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bittersweet, DadSchlatt, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tommyinnit needs a hug, big brother schlatt rights, i am not using the real life people, i'm using the idea of the sbi fd to write a story, no beta we die like schlatt in the drug van, personas only, protective schlatt, protective!schlatt, schlatt needs a hug, sort of a vent i guess, this is platonic assholes if you ship schlatt and tommy gtfo nasty ass p3do, yep AL TER NATE UN I VERSE this is not real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintyyfresh/pseuds/minty
Summary: The stark sky appended with the sheer number of stars above him was staggering. The boy was lanky. He was tall, with long, flailing limbs. He would be an excellent basketball player, or cross country runner, if he ever chose to do athletics instead of sitting blankly at his computer monitors day after day after day. But staring at the sky, and all of the stars on that clear, dark night, Tommy had never felt so small.It was funny, he thought, how he was so averse to being called a child. Right now, it was overwhelmingly apparent that that's all he was.He was just a kid, and he was in way over his head.-----Tommy is having a dark night and battling some dark thoughts.Thank God someone finds him.
Relationships: Family dynamics - Relationship
Series: minty's sbi fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074380
Comments: 37
Kudos: 665





	4am again (and i'm doing nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> heavy heavy tw for suicidal thoughts/suicide attempts. if you get triggered by that, please protect yourself and click off. remember, you're never ever alone. 
> 
> song title is from funeral by phoebe bridgers. 
> 
> also, obviously, if ANYONE in this fic mentions that they're uncomfortable with it or anything like it, i'll be deleting immediately. the ccs comfort is our #1 priority as fan writers. as of right now, i think we should be in the clear, as there is absolutely no shipping content in this story. everything is 100% platonic, and this is a story about their internet personas, not them as real people. absolutely an alternate universe, absolutely not real life, absolutely fictitious.
> 
> and if anyone reads this and is concerned about the author, i am safe, i promise! things have been hard recently, but i'm going to be okay. please don't worry about me.

You'd think he would’ve had a stronger reaction.

People don't really tend to be calm during suicide attempts, after all.

But as Tommy watched over the dark, rippling water, wind ruffling his hair and legs swinging out over the ledge, he couldn't bring himself to think of anything of all. It was almost comical. No tears were being spilled, no sniffles were coming from his nose, not even from the chill of the breezy autumn night. No, Tommy was completely numb.

How inconvenient.

In movies, and books, and tv shows, depression was always so _pretty_. Pretty mascara smeared over pretty girls’ eyes, crying in pretty clothes in pretty rooms. They would always play the fucking ukulele, too.

But Tommy didn’t play the ukulele. He didn’t wear mascara, and he wasn’t a pretty girl. No, he was disheveled, outside at four in the damn morning in sweatpants and a hoodie, unshowered for probably far too long. He was not a movie protagonist, crying over a breakup. He was not the main character of a book series, finally bested by the villain. No, he was just a stupid teenage boy that couldn’t catch a break. So he sat, and he stared, and he swung his long legs, drumming his fingers on the rail in front of him and getting lost in the daze of his own mind.

Finally bored, he tipped his head back and looked at the sky.

The night was clear. You could see every star dotting the inky darkness.

They were really quite pretty.

The stark sky appended with the sheer number of stars above him was staggering. The boy was lanky. He was tall, with long, flailing limbs. He would be an excellent basketball player, or cross country runner, if he ever chose to do athletics instead of sitting blankly at his computer monitors day after day after day. But staring at the sky, and all of the stars on that clear, dark night, Tommy had never felt so small.

It was funny, he thought, how he was so averse to being called a child. Right now, it was overwhelmingly apparent that that's all he was.

He was just a kid, and he was in way over his head.

No one even knew he was out. For all his dad and brothers knew, he was safe at home, asleep. If they thought about him being "dead to the world", it would be in an entirely different context than the one Tommy was thinking of.

And now? Now his mind was churning. Because it was true. Phil didn't know. Wilbur didn't know. Even Techno, whose sleep schedule was so fucked he was practically nocturnal, hadn't heard him slip out the back kitchen window onto the porch.

He hadn't heard him make the journey around their house to the garage.

He hadn't heard him unlock his bicycle, nor him pedal into the crisp wind of the night.

No, no one knew Tommy was here. No one had seen him bike out to the middle of the bridge.

No one watched as he let his bike clatter against the cold blacktop, feverishly casting it to the side, not bothering to lock it. No one was witness to his almost drunken reel to the railing.

Tommy was completely alone.

He sat on that thought for a minute. He had originally just needed to clear his mind. His head was far too loud, and his limbs restless, and his body in desperate need of fresh air. So he followed that feeling, and it had led him here.

It had led no one else.

No one would be around to find me, Tommy thought. They wouldn't have to see my broken body dragged up by the police. Hell, they probably wouldn't even be awake by the time I'm found.

They never have to be a part of this.

I'll never have to see their disappointment. I'll be long gone by then.

And that? That was illuminating to the blonde boy on the ledge. He'd be gone before his family would even know. He wouldn't have to see their tears. Wouldn't have to live with that guilt. No, he wouldn’t be around to bear witness to the consequences of his actions. And that thought was finally the one to shatter the boy's unfeeling mask.

He smiled.

It didn’t matter. He'd be long gone.

Tommy had made up his mind.

He grasped the cool iron and pulled himself to his feet, shaking out his long legs for the last time.

He mussed his hair, quickly fixing the damage of the night's cool breeze.

And he opened his hips, and swung a leg over the railing.

"Tommy?"

He froze, one leg in safety, and one leg dangling over inky water. Looking up, he took in the man who said his name, and his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

Yankees cap, pulled low over tousled brown hair.

Reagan Bush '84 shirt, loosely covering a gangly chest.

Brown mutton chops.

Brown Timberland boots.

Brown eyes, meeting his blue.

Shit.

Shit, fuck, shit.

Of all people to have to find him in the middle of trying to kill himself, he really wished it wasn't his damn idol.

The world must really fucking hate him.

"Tommy, what are you doing?" Schlatt said softly, eyes flicking up and down the scene and hands starting to shake. He shoved them in his pockets. "What are you doing out here?"

Tommy's brain short circuited. His current position was pretty incriminating, and suddenly, his plan to die with all loose ends tied had completely crumbled. "I-I could ask you the same thing!" he stammered in reply. "You're fucking American! What are you doing in the middle of England at four in the morning?"

Schlatt's face heated up. "I was planning on surprising Wilbur tomorrow morning. I'm staying at the motel down the street. I was coming out to smoke a joint before going to sleep." His nose wrinkled and the concern didn't leave his eyes. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you fuckin' straddling the railing?"

Tommy floundered for a response, but he had been caught red handed. He sighed, pulling his leg back over to safety, and practically deflated seeing the nervousness staining Schlatt's expression.

"I'll go home. Please don't tell Phil," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, and suddenly he was in Schlatt's arms.

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," Schlatt muttered, voice breaking. "Thank fuckin' Christ I was here." Tommy felt his lip begin to wobble, and he pushed his face into Schlatt’s stupid political crewneck that he didn’t understand. Dumb fucking Americans and their dumb fucking politics.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want to meet you like this.”

Schlatt pulled away and put his arms on Tommy’s shoulders. His eyes were shiny, and he sniffled before quickly dragging his sleeve across his nose.

“Kid, you just scared the shit out of me.” Schlatt chuckled wetly. “I saw some random kid out on the rail and was going to come help to begin with. When I saw it was you?” He shuddered before sniffling again and brought the younger boy back into a tight embrace. “Thank God I was here. Thank God, thank God. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I wasn’t.”

After a few moments, Tommy wormed his way out of the man’s arms. “I’m sorry, this is just so strange.” Schlatt stared at him, and he paused, contemplating the best way to go about voicing his confusion. There really was no tactful approach to the question, he thought. Well, fuck it. Tommy Watson didn’t do subtlety.

“Schlatt, why didn’t you just let me jump?”

Schlatt visibly stiffened.

_"What?"_

Tommy’s face warmed, almost embarrassed. “You don’t actually care about me,” he argued, heat creeping up his cheeks. “Just because you’re friends with my brothers...I-Schlatt, I’m annoying! I’m a burden! You don’t really know me. All I do is weigh people down.” He began sniffling quietly and groaned, quickly swiping his sleeve across his face.

“And now, I’m going to fucking cry in front of the guy I literally idolize after him finding me trying to kill myself! J fucking Schlatt is seeing me with snot all over my sleeves! This is so fucking humiliating!” The boy hid his face in his hands for a few short moments, before breaking into a run. He had to get out of this. Now.

Maybe if he ran fast enough, he’d wake up from this nightmare.

It didn’t end up mattering, though, because Tommy was easily overtaken by the older man who all but tackled him to the ground. The two boys were both openly crying now, tears dripping onto skin and fabric and the asphalt below them.

Schlatt rolled off of Tommy unceremoniously and sat beside him, leaning against the railing of the bridge and slinging an arm across his shoulder.

“You’re not weak, Tommy,” he started quietly, voice barely a mutter over the still night. Tommy tensed and waited for the inevitable “but” at the end of the sentence.

It never came.

“My junior year of high school was really tough.” Schlatt let out a sardonic laugh, bitterness shining through his voice. “My parents split up, my friends ditched my sorry ass, my grades were slipping. I just felt so alone.” He paused to give Tommy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Tommy felt his heart clench. Where was this story going?

“Anyways, I’ll spare you the boring details. Point is, I ended up at the Brooklyn Bridge on a Wednesday night with a bottle of pills and a note in my pocket.” Tommy’s breath hitched.

Schlatt had dealt with this?

“But-but you’re so funny! And smart! And you have so many friends!” Tommy sputtered. 

“Lemme finish,” Schlatt said gently.

“It was so hard, Tommy. A man found me on the side of the road and called 911. I was stuck in a psych ward for a week and a half.” Tommy’s eyes were almost boggling out of his head.

“They stuck me on some medications, gave me a therapist. It was so fucking hard. But I got out of it, okay? I have friends now, and a job I love. I would’ve never even met Will if that man hadn’t found me, Toms.” He took a deep breath, leaning his head back on the railing and staring at the sky, tears shimmering on his cheeks.

“I’m thankful every fucking day I didn’t succeed. I’m not going to let you make that mistake.”

Tommy leaned his head against the man’s shoulder, muted sobs wracking his body.

“I just...I just feel so alone,” he whispered. Schlatt rubbed the boy’s back and pulled him closer.

“You’re not, Tommy. I promise you, you’re not,” Schlatt whispered back, voice thick.

The night was quiet as the two sat there for God knows how long, huddled together in embrace, until they had both finally exhausted all their tears. Tommy looked Schlatt in the eyes and gave him a watery grin.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to smoke your...your marijuana, Schlatt. You still look high though,” Tommy mumbled, and Schlatt tipped his head back into a booming laugh.

“You’re making jokes after a damn suicide attempt. Tommy’s back,” he said through chuckles, and Tommy giggled weakly. He had made Schlatt laugh. Maybe this "being alive" thing wasn’t all too bad.

Schlatt interrupted Tommy's thoughts by ruffling his blonde hair fondly. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed his Yankees cap off of his head and pressed it atop the younger boy's rumpled hair. Tommy's jaw dropped.

Schlatt grinned. "It looks good on you."  
  
Tommy felt his mouth open and close like a goldfish. He gingerly patted the cap on his head as if afraid it would disappear when he touched it. He couldn't help his mouth stretching into a shy smile.

Yeah. Definitely a good call on living through the night. 

Tommy's captivation was cut short with an awkward cough from Schlatt. “We should probably get you home, kid,” he said reluctantly.

Tommy immediately shot to his feet. Panic seized his heart.

“Are you going to tell Phil?”

Schlatt sighed, slowly standing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I have to, kiddo. I’ll be there with you the whole time, though.” Tommy considered this for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Okay. As long as I’m not alone.” Schlatt cracked a soft smile, the most genuine one Tommy had ever seen on the man’s face.

“Oh, Tommy,” he said. “You’re never alone.”

*****

It had been a long night. Schlatt and Tommy walked the younger boy’s bike back into his garage, then gingerly stepped through the back door. It turned out, Tommy had overestimated his stealth in leaving the house. The two boys entered the living room to Phil, Wilbur, and Techno huddled on the couch, eyes bloodshot and baggy.

There were a lot of tears shed in that living room that night.

Schlatt pretended not to notice how small Tommy looked grasping his older brothers and father when they found out where he was. Tommy pretended not to notice how Wilbur shakily pressed a kiss to Schlatt’s cheek and whispered, “Thank you for bringing my little brother home.” They all pretended not to notice the tear stains on the couch and on everybody’s shirts, even Techno’s.

Yeah, it had been a long night.

But lying on that couch, wrapped in his father’s arms and clutching a well-worn Yankees cap, hearing the soft snores of his sleeping family around him, he couldn’t help but think: maybe the nights wouldn’t be so long anymore.

And he was glad he’d be around to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me that you chose to click on my fic. i hope you enjoyed it. i'm really trying to improve my writing, and i read every single comment i get. please, let me know what you think! let me know what i can do better! let me know how your day was! i want to hear it all.
> 
> also, i'm on twitter! come say hi @mintyyfreshtwt :)
> 
> i'm sending my love to each and every one of you <3


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